


The Falcon's Ascent

by Czolghl10



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi, Pre-Canon, Robert's Rebellion, War Of The Five Kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Czolghl10/pseuds/Czolghl10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"War is hell to the smallfolk. To the cunning merchant however, it is nothing less than The Maiden's bounty." A story of the recent history of the proud Free City of Gulltown through the eyes of the social climbing Arryn of Gulltown family who plot and scheme from within their great Manse. Murder! War! Banking! Merchant guild politics!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue or the Old Man of the Rock

PROLOGUE:

            There was always something tragic about Falcon’s Roost. It stood like a beggar in the Bay of Gulls trying to steer ships and cargo its way. Weylon hated it. He was born to the opulent estates of the Blue Manse. He had constructed the rich gardens of the Orchidhall for his wife. And yet here he was, docking on a miserable green rock. A sacrifice he was almost unwilling to take if it weren’t for his wife’s insistence. “The old man must be brought to heel. You are his last living blood relative, you cannot allow him to give the title to the Eyrie.” She was obsessed with titles his wife. But she had a point this time, he had to make his uncle bend and give him Falcon’s Roost for the future of his house.

            Weylon disembarked the skiff onto the roughhewn steps leading from the rocky beach to the castle. Or rather what his family called a castle. Up came one of the few servants on the island, a dry, dusty old half maester.  “Welcome, Master Weylon. Are you here to speak to the Lord?”

“No, I’ve come to this floating boulder for a pleasant picnic by the algae and gull shit. Of course I’ve come to see my uncle! Move fool!” Weylon pushed passed the servant. He hated Falcon’s Roost, with its damp mossy walls, and constant smell of seawater. Barely a proper holdfast, suitable maybe for some lordlings in the Fingers but not _his_ family. He understood why his late father was always in such a hurry to leave, his uncle however…

He passed through the great hall. Ironic as it could barely fit fifty. Not that it was fit for anyone now that it was more cobwebs than anything. Then he followed through the door, or rather the half that was still on its hinges and went up the stairs to the lord’s private chambers. It took his eyes some time to adjust to the darkness, the very air was grey and green around him. He retched at the smell. A sweet-sick mixture of death and salt water. Weylon covered his face in a handkerchief from his pocket. There were two people in the room. Or rather one and a half. A small mousy septa so grey she faded into the furniture, and the half-corpse that was his uncle.

“Good Moring uncle Volarys.” Ridiculous name. Volarys and Maryus. His grandfather must have thought if he gave his sons Valyrian names he’d make them Targaryen.

“Who is that?!” Volarys choked out. Weylon swore he could have seen dust erupt from the old man’s mouth.

“Your heir uncle. Weylon”

“Artys? Is that you son?” Ridiculous old man. He still thought he had a linage.

“No Volarys. Weylon. Maryus’s son. Artys died in the Trident. Orys died at Ashford. I’m all you have left.”

“Who? Maryus? The Banker?” Volarys spit the words out like a green rotten apple. He still clung to his honor. His nobility. One would think being part of a family exiled for marrying beneath them that Volarys would have more sympathies for his banker father. But Volarys was a stubborn old hawk. He wanted so much to be like the other nobles of the Vale, the Waynwoods, the Royces, the Corbrays, that he put on twice the airs. He fought with twice the honor. And he defended his blood line with triple the zeal. Pity, he put so much effort into proving his house to their cousins that he sentenced his sons to die in Jon’s rebellion. Meanwhile, Weylon had become rich off it. Married the Baavosi Sealord’s daughter. And became one of the most powerful men in Gulltown. Without a lordship. But by building on the fortunes of the bank his father had founded. Now here they were. Volarys was in the Stranger’s hands. And he was 20. With a fortune, a wife and in a few minutes, a title.

“I’ve come to ask your signature. On this writ of inheritance.” The old man gurgled and strangled the sheets beneath his loosely wrapped finger bones. “I will not let a Banker ruin our name! As High as Honor!” Weylon had grown tired of those words long ago. As soon as the energy sprung into the old falcon, and the septa jumped to his aid, it died out. His breath was shallow and rank. His cheeks pale and sallow. His eyes coated in thick cataracts and lined with yellow crust that crisped off onto his cheeks with movement. Weylon realized that another tactic would be necessary.

“Leave. I require a word in private with my uncle.” The septa looked at him with his wide grey eyes and scurried out into whatever hiding hole she called her room. Now that they were alone, Weylon approached.

“Volarys.” He spoke in a low voice as close to the old man as he could stomach. 

“Who is that? Why are you here?!” he coughed as damp and green as the walls.

“Volarys. I am the stranger. I am here to give you the final mercy.”

“Stranger? I’m not ready to leave, my sons!” Weylon was tiring of the farce. “Your sons are dead!” The old man evacuated his bowels. It took all the strength Weylon had to hold back the bile climbing up his throat. “Join them Volarys. Join your sons.”

The old man calmed. “Yes. Yes My Lord Stranger. Take me with you, I want to see my sons.” He reached his hand out, reverent. The first time he'd ever treated him with any respect. His parents may have been married, but to Volarys Weylon was nothing more than a bastard. Weylon slipped the quill in the old man's translucent hands and held it there.

“Not yet. First you must write your name in the book of souls. Come Volarys be at peace.” Weylon closed his hand around Volarys’s.

“Yes, let me be at peace.” Volarys’s scrawled a half written name on the paper. “Take me to my sons.” Immediately Weylon stood, wiping his hand on his doublet. He didn’t want the stench of death on him. He stood looking down at Volarys. The pathetic old man looked almost at peace. But one couldn’t go around kin-slaying. His time would come soon enough, who was Weylon to intervene in the Gods’s plans? He left the room as soon as he could.

It took Volarys a moment to understand what had happened. He started crying to the Stranger. “Give me peace! Let me see my sons! Stranger!” His cries echoing through the castle. Pitiful. Ser Volarys Arryn of Gulltown, the Old Falcon, Hero of Sunstone would die alone in his own shit. Weylon was glad he wouldn’t be able to see it. Or smell it. He didn’t have to now. The old man had signed away his title him. He was no longer “Weyon, Banker’s son.” But “Weylon Arryn of Gulltown, Lord of Falcon’s Roost, Master of the Gullhall, and Steward of the Bank of Arryn.”

Weylon made his way back on to the skiff and rowed away from the rock. He hated Falcon’s Roost. After the old man died, he decided he would put the castle to the torch and build a new one. Perhaps in Braavosi style, or Pentoshi, or if he felt extravagant, Volantene. Anything but what it was now.


	2. Chapter One or The Maid of Arryn Expands His Wings

The Moon Way cut through the Gulltown waterfront like a hot knife through a soft-boiled egg. On one side, the sea, full to the brim with trading cogs, purple galleys, whaling boats, and skiffs. A rainbow of sails and flags from around the known world. From the Free Cities, from Dorne, Lannisport, the Arbor even from the Iron Islands and Ibben. On the other side was the wealth of Gulltown on display. Scores of merchant row houses three and four stories high, customs offices and guildhalls lined the thoroughfare. The merchants themselves made sure to show their wealth, wearing the finest lace from Myr, dyes and jewels from Tyrosh, perfumes from Lys. All to project their wealth, for in Gulltown, wealth was power. The patricians of the city would parade out daily along the Moon Way, to see and be seen and to shop from the craftsmen who also line the Way's wide breadth.

            Rickhart loved the Moon Way. He loved the act of being seen. When you belonged to the most powerful family in the city it was a necessity. For that reason he chose his finest carriage to parade him on the Way. One complete with gilded falcons and orchids. He was young and sure of his power in the city. He looked good in his furs and blue doublet and trousers. Perfumed with a lilac blend that cost him 10 gold dragons. idly tossing a folding fan from Braavos in one hand and holding his heavy Valyrian steel walking cane in the other. He saw a group of young squires walk next to him and opened the carriage window to see if any were worth his time. He sent a look towards a particularly tall looking squire with light red hair, before the carriage flew down its path. He look remarkably like his sister Arys, to the point where some courting knights would get them confused to his amusement. It's because of this that they took to calling him "Rickhart, Maid of Arryn". Rickhart and his sister both shared their mother's slight features with pale skin and deep black hair, crowned with dark blue eyes. They both shared their mother's arrogance as well. Whether it is earned or not depends. Despite having only seen sixteen namedays, he acted as his house’s public male face ever since his father Weylon locked himself up to count coins in the Orchidhall. The carriage continued down the smooth stone path until it stopped by his favorite building. The Gull Hall.

            The Gull Hall was a massive red brick structure with an ornate façade covered with great gilded eagles, owls, falcons and hawks swarming around stained glass windows that facing out to the Bay while giant fish and leviathans coiled around the columns that held up its many entry ways. Its roof was copper that had become green with patina, with one central onion-domed tower crowned with a soaring seagull on its spire. Rickhart smiled as he exited his carriage and stepped out on to the walkway.  

“My Lord Arryn!” Rickhart knew that voice and its eager timbre.  He shuttered. Master Lonnel Dunway. His family paid for Master Dunway’s campaign, and he was their man, a simpleton who with Rickhart on every initiative put before the Gullhall. That did not, however, make him any less insufferable. “Master Dunway! A pleasure as always to see you!” Rickhart had to hold back a sinker as Dunway bounced towards him dressed in a garish green plaid costume that was altogether too small for his sizable girth. “May I ask where you acquired such fine wool Lonnel?”

“Aye m’lord. From the Woolman’s had it sized then sent to Tyrosh for dying!” What a waste of good dyes. “I must send my servants to Master Wooman then, and have them order four coats for me and my sisters!” Empty promise to an empty headed man.

“Are you going in the Hall for court?” No, he was going into the Gull Hall to fuck Harrold Hardyng on the deliberation table. “Why that’s exactly it Lonnel! Care to join me.” The man was easily impressed by politesse, such was the nature of upstart merchants. “I would be proud to m’lord!” The fact he wished to be seen with in the presence of an Arryn was also probably a reason. A vain man, that Master Dunway.

As he entered the hall he caught the sound of an argument between some of the other city Masters.

“Go back ta fuckin’ yer sheep Woolman! Yer district has defaulted twice on me warehouse payments!” That sort of crude indecency could only belong to Master Angler, the newest and most common of the Hall.

“My district defaulted because the Graftons can’t be fucking bothered to patrol their own fucking waters! Half my constituents have lost cargo over the last year to Salador fucking Saan the purple Lysene cunt!” The angry rumbles belonged to Master Woolman, a stubborn, angry man, who was above all fundamentally honest, a grievous defect. It was his family’s monopoly on the profitable textile industry that kept his seat in the council.

“Didn’t you run with Salador Saan during you smuggling days Angler? How does it feel being a bloody crook who stumbled into here on the backs of fools?!” The lisp and accent belonged the Master Viseri, patriarch of the last exiled Braavosi family that remained in the Gullhall. He was a wily old man, who knew how to illicit anger from almost anyone.

“Say that to me face you fat Braavosi cunt!” Angler was about to pounce on Viseri’s neck. Rickhart feared he might rip the fat man’s throat out with his teeth. “Masters, may I remind you the Gullhall is not in session. Please withhold official arguments until we can discuss them formally.

“And why should I listen to you, boy?” Angler approached him only for Rickhart to reach out with his walking cane. “Do you see this cane? It’s very expensive. Valyrian steel. A family heirloom. My favorite part…” He flip the cane up and around to show its handle “is the handle. A falcon’s head in silver. I wonder where I’ve seen that before.” Master Angler backed down. As did the other Masters. Rickhart had to admit, his name had an irresistible power.

They waited for the other two Masters, Jeweler and Ironsmith, to arrive before commencing court. It was the typical assortment of mercantile politics that Rickhart reveled in. Buying and selling shipments, planning the construction of two new guildhalls, the remodeling of the First Sept, which the pious Master Ironsmith championed. Most enjoyably, they returned to the issue of Woolman’s lost cargo.

“Master Woolman, I have a proposal” Rickhart, loved the captive audience, how these six tempered merchants hung on his words. “The Bank of Arryn can cover the debts you incurred, and insure your family against any other possible attacks. Together, we can make sure you never have to fear the loss of your fortunes again!” Beneath the polite offerings was something colder. The Woolmans had zealously avoided usury and incurring debt. Now they have to choose between debt and massive financial loss. This is the way it has been ever since his father took over during Robert’s Rebellion. They wait, then at a family’s lowest point, they send out line. After 20 years only very few merchants in Gulltown, or in the Vale for that matter, did not owe some sort of money to the Bank of Arryn. Enough to secure their position.

Master Woolman shoot his head solemnly. He shoot Rickhart’s hand and signed away his soul. Rickhart loved that moment. The moment when he knows he has won. Ever since he was a boy playing cyvasse in his grandfather’s palace. His mother had taught him everything, and made sure he always knew that his blood runs purple, and on what mountain her ambitions for him lay.  After they concluded court, he left for the carriage waiting out in front.

“M’lord. A servant boy approached him. “A letter from a little friend.” Rickhart took it apprehensively. His mother had taught him never to trust children or orphans, it was too easy to make them do as you will them with a bag of sweets and the promise of a home, and as he knew all too well from his time in Ironoaks, where he got his nickname, children are cruel. He took the letter and waved the child off. When he saw the sigil in stamped in wax onto it he knew immediately who it was. A mockingbird. Rickhart loved these days on the Moon Way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms:  
> Moon Way: Largest and fanciest thoroughfare in Gulltown.  
> Gull Hall: The elegant building that houses the Gullhall, the governing body of Gulltown.  
> House Dunway: Up-and-coming merchant house that specializes in textiles and velvet  
> House Angler: Poorest house from the poorest district, specializes in fishing and goods storage.  
> House Woolman: Old merchant house that has a monopoly of wool production in Gulltown.  
> House Viseri: Old exiled Braavosi house, and the only surviving one of the first five founding houses of the Gullhall. Specializes in shipping.  
> House Ironsmith: Merchant family that specializes in weaponsmithing. Rely on the Graftons and are loyal to them.  
> House Jeweler: Fairly new house that specializes in jewelry crafting and cutting.  
> Lord Rickhart Arryn of Gulltown: Lord of Orchidhall and heir to Falcon's Roost, regent to Lord Weylon Arryn in the Gullhall and Steward of the Bank of Arryn. Refered to by enemies as "The Maid of Arryn" for feminine nature.

**Author's Note:**

> Terms:  
> House Arryn of Gulltown: Cadet branch of House Arryn exiled for marrying merchants. Never truly disinherited but treated inferior to the main branch, despite being much richer.  
> Ser Volarys: Lord of Falcons Roost, Hero of Sunstone. Known as the Old Falcon.  
> Ser Artys: His first son, died in the Battle of the Trident.  
> Ser Orys: His second son, died in the Battle of Ashford.  
> Maryus: His brother, become a merchant and banker. Founded the Bank of Arryn. Died of a stroke.  
> Weylon: His nephew. Elected Master of the Gullhall, Steward of the Bank of Arryn.  
> Isadora of Braavos: Daughter of Sealord Ferrego Antaryon. Wife of Weylon Arryn, who paid her father's weight in silver stags for her hand.  
> The Gullhall: The Merchant federation that governs the city of Gulltown, nominally sworn to the House Grafton.  
> Falcon's Roost: Ancestral Castle of House Arryn of Gulltown. Home of the main branch. Clings to a rock near Gulltown.  
> The Blue Manse: Urban Palace of the Arryns. Primary home of Maryus's branch.  
> The Orchidhall: Pastoral Palace built by Weylon for his new wife, Isadora of Braavos. Built in Free City style.


End file.
